


Rock the Red

by saltlicorice



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Red Rocker AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltlicorice/pseuds/saltlicorice
Summary: There’s a blonde guy occupying far more of André’s bed than someone that small should be able to occupy, and André has no idea what his name is.“Call me V,” mystery blonde said last night.  André and V weren’t exactly talking much, and the initial seemed like more than enough to go on.  It was a very good night, but now André has to wake up enough to decide whether V wants him to be apologetic or unconcerned about not knowing his name.





	Rock the Red

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [Jakub Vrána learning cheers from the Red Rockers at the Capitals' championship parade](https://russianmachineneverbreaks.com/2018/06/19/nbc4-gave-jakub-vrana-a-gopro-during-the-caps-championship-parade/). Jakub, Madison, and Christian are Red Rockers. Holtby is their choreographer/coach, Oshie is their manager, Carlson manages events. Everyone else plays hockey. 
> 
> _Rock the Red_ wouldn't exist without [Effy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fourthlinewinger/pseuds/Fourthlinewinger), who beta read, cheered me on, and spent over a month helping me brainstorm. Effy also let me borrow the idea of [Nicklas Bäckström loving Peeps](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072484). Thank you, Effy!

ONE

There’s a blonde guy occupying far more of André’s bed than someone that small should be able to occupy, and André has no idea what his name is.

“Call me V,” mystery blonde said last night. André and V weren’t exactly talking much, and the initial seemed like more than enough to go on. It was a very good night, but now André has to wake up enough to decide whether V wants him to be apologetic or unconcerned about not knowing his name.

This is why morning-afters are the worst. They’re not quite bad enough to make falling asleep mid-post-coital cuddle not worth it, but they’re close. That’s saying something, because cuddling after sex is the best, and falling asleep spooned up behind someone makes it better. André thought morning afters would be less uncomfortable now that he had his own place, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

V stirs, calling André’s attention back to him. He’s not awake yet, so André can figure out how to handle this later. He rolls over, burying his face between V’s shoulder and the pillow, blocking out the faint sunlight. V has nice shoulders and André wouldn’t mind sleeping a bit longer.

 

When André wakes again, it’s to brighter sunlight and an empty bed. He feels a pang of regret, even though he doesn’t mind avoiding the trickiness of morning small talk. Last night was very good, and he never got a chance to tell V that.

Then he registers the sound of the shower running in the en suite bathroom. The door is open too, not just cracked to let out steam, but fully open. The invitation is a relief, even if it puts small talk back on the table.

André steps into the bathroom. He can’t see anything behind the fogged up shower door, but he can definitely hear V singing loudly and off-key in some language André can’t identify. It’s very charming. 

V probably wouldn’t mock André’s attempts at Swedish karaoke, unlike a certain teammate whose name rhymes with sticky and who likes to pretend he’s dignified. André stops that thought in its tracks: he and V are nowhere near karaoke date territory and he doesn’t know if he wants them to get there. They’ve hooked up once. He doesn’t even know V’s name.

André raps lightly on the shower door. V opens it a crack with a tunelessly sing-song “Good morning!” Covered in water droplets and glowing pink, he looks even better than he did last night.

André should probably say something, but he just blinks at V, mesmerized.

“You could join me,” V suggests. “There’s plenty of space.” 

Round two is every bit as much fun as round one was, and involves just as little conversation.

 

Breakfast still feels daunting, but at least it’s a great opportunity to admire V’s dimples. They eat granola bars at André’s breakfast nook. André has a breakfast nook, but not proper breakfast food. He should ask Tommy about the grocery delivery service they used last year. Or he could ask Nicke for a recommendation, and avoid reminding Tommy that he moved out.

V’s name turns out to be Jakub, and he doesn’t mind that André didn’t know that already. “We met on Grindr,” he says, shrugging it off. “I didn’t know what your face looked like until I showed up here last night.” He must not follow hockey because he still doesn’t seem to know who André is. That suits André just fine. 

“Don’t worry,” Jakub smirks. “Your face more than lives up to expectations.”

“Thanks.” André swats at him.

Swatting turns into tussling, and nearly turns into round three, until Jakub gently grabs André’s wrists and André stills. “Are you okay? Is this okay?” André asks.

“This is more than okay, but I do have to get to work by noon,” Jakub says. He looks regretful, and he keeps one ankle hooked around André’s calf. 

Despite the contact, André can’t help but think this is the _nice to meet you, let’s never speak again_ moment he’s been dreading all morning. He’s racking his brain for a smooth way to say goodbye when Jakub clears his throat. 

He sounds as uncertain as André feels when he says, “I’d love to do this again sometime, if you want to, but seriously, no pressure.” 

André would love to do it again too. The stress he’s been riding in waves all morning recedes in a rush. “That would be great! I’m really glad you had a good time.”

Jakub leaves after they trade phone numbers and one last kiss. André can’t help but smile at the best hook-up he has had in actual years. 

He almost Facetimes Tommy because he needs someone to know how happy he is. They used to share things like this after the people they slept with went home, but they also used to share an apartment. Calling Tommy now would probably cross into the weirdness André has been so happy to avoid all morning. 

He goes for a run instead.

 

They do it again, and again after that. André gets used to waking up to Jakub singing off-key Czech pop songs. He gets used to starting his day by joining Jakub in the shower. They’re finding a rhythm with each other.

André is even prepared for breakfast today. He hasn’t gotten grocery deliveries set up yet; he’s pretending that has nothing to do with not talking to Tommy, and nothing to do with not letting Nicky know that he’s not talking to Tommy. He can manage to buy fruit on his own, though.

Jakub opens André’s refrigerator and turns to him with a delighted look. “You got mangos!”

“You said they were your favorite.” André crosses the kitchen to stand next to Jakub.

Jakub kisses him, standing on tiptoes and winding both arms around André’s neck.

André kisses him back until he realizes they’re holding the refrigerator door open. “Do you know which of these are ready to eat?” he asks Jakub, pointing at the half dozen mangos sitting on the top shelf.

Jakub feels each mango and picks out two. “The other ones aren’t ripe yet,” he says.

André takes the ripe mangos from Jakub. “You’ll have to come back when they are.” He presses his lips to Jakub’s for a moment, before he steps away to pull a cutting board out of the cabinet over the stove.

“I’d like that.” Jakub sounds as eager as André feels.

André cuts into the first mango and Jakub comes to stand behind him at the counter. He wraps his arms around André, reaching under his shirt and kissing the back of his neck. 

André mangles the mango. He’d like to blame it on Jakub distracting him, but it’s probably because his only experience with cutting mangoes is watching a how-to video while he was waiting in the check-out line yesterday.

Jakub giggles and pulls André’s hand to his mouth as soon as André sets the knife down. He licks the dripping juice off each of André’s fingers in turn. It would be really hot if it didn’t tickle so much.

André reflexively jerks his hand back from Jakub’s tongue, but he can’t stem his laughter. He can’t stop himself from squirming away from the ghost of the sensation, either. He braces himself with his forearms against the counter as he doubles over, breathless with laughter.

“How is this the way I find out your ticklish?” Jakub asks, giggling. He leans his entire body against André’s. “Should we be having more adventurous sex?”

André sputters. “We shouldn’t add tickling to, you know…”

“Aww, I know. I’m joking.” Jakub tugs at André’s shoulders until André turns around, and then kisses the tip of André’s nose. “I like the sex we’re having a lot,” he says.

“So do I,” André agrees, feeling his cheeks flame. “But if there’s something you want to try, we should talk about it.”

Jakub pulls back, keeping his hands on André’s shoulders. André tries to imagine what he’s going to suggest, mentally flashing between images of Jakub in handcuffs, Jakub blindfolded, Jakub in lingerie. He doesn’t know if any of that would work for him, but he’d be up for finding out if Jakub wanted to. 

“I don’t have anything particular in mind,” Jakub says, then takes a deep breath, suddenly looking as awkward as André feels. “Just, you’re really thoughtful, you know, like right now, but also all the time, and I like that a lot.”

André doesn’t think he can get any redder, but his face is definitely trying. “I like you, too,” he says, and kisses Jakub to break the tension between them.

It must work because Jakub is smiling easily when they pull apart. He looks beautiful in the sunlight filtering through the kitchen blinds. André isn’t ready to dwell on that. 

“Here,” he says, handing Jakub the knife. “You do the other one.”

Jakub doesn’t do much better with the second mango, but he isn’t ticklish when André licks the juice off his fingers.

André would like to do this every morning.

 

TWO

The apartment still feels empty without André, even emptier than it did after Latts was traded across the country. Tom understands André wanting space, but understanding doesn’t make it feel any less wrong every time he comes home and there’s no one around to wrestle with, or cook dinner for, or beat at ping pong. He has a guest room now; it’s not a great trade-off.

Tom has been home for a few quiet hours when someone knocks on his door. He throws on a t-shirt and goes to answer it.

The guy standing outside the door stares up at Tom. He’s about Tom’s age with dark curly hair. After a few long moments, he exclaims, “Oh, shit, you’re Tom Wilson!” He’s probably a new neighbor and almost certainly a Caps fan.

Tom leans against door frame, amused. “Yep. That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say hi. Not because you’re you – I’m not a stalker or anything – I didn’t even know you lived here, but we’re neighbors now. Jakub and Christian and I moved in down the hall a few weeks ago and we’re finally getting around to introducing ourselves to our neighbors. Also, we’re making cookies. Are you allowed to eat cookies?”

Tom bites back a laugh when his new neighbor finally pauses for breath. “I’m allowed to eat cookies. Thank you,” he says. “And I’m not sure I caught your name.”

The guy flushes, but sticks his hand out. “I’m Madison.”

Tom shakes Madison’s hand, still smiling. “It’s great to meet you, Madison. Let me know if you need help with anything.”

“Oh, that’d be awesome. Thank you!” Madison says, stepping back. “I should get back to Christian and Jakub, see how the cookies are going.” 

“Of course,” Tom says, and goes back inside.

 

An hour later Tom is screwing around on Facebook when someone knocks on his door again – probably Madison – and he smiles to himself. Eating cookies or helping his neighbors out would be a better distraction than scrolling through life updates from people he hasn’t spoken to in years.

It isn’t Madison, but it is one of his roommates. Tom has barely opened the door when a very blonde guy he’s never seen before blurts out, “Hi! I’m Madison’s roommate, Jakub. Could you please come turn off our fire alarm? There’s no fire, but we burnt a bunch of cookies and we can’t get it shut off!” 

Tom follows Jakub down the hallway to an apartment where the fire alarm is indeed blaring. Madison is there, swaying a little under the weight of a skinny guy with sharp elbows who is sitting on his shoulders and jabbing frantically at the shrieking fire alarm. They both look stressed. 

“You have to hold the button down until it stops beeping!” Tom yells to be heard over the noise. Luckily, Madison’s roommate understands him, and the apartment is quiet in short order.

“Thank you. And sorry,” Madison says, crouching down to the other guy slide off his shoulders.

“It’s not a problem,” Tom assures him.

“Still, thanks,” Madison repeats. “Oh, these are Christian and Jakub,” he says, pointing at the other two guys. Christian is peering at Tom from where he’s standing next to Madison. Jakub is examining a baking sheet full of scorched cookies.

“We’re kind of your coworkers,” Christian says. “Sorry this isn’t a great first impression.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it.” Tom waves him off. “Do you guys work at the rink?”

“We’re Red Rockers,” Madison answers. “Part time anyways. We’re also full-time nurses at the VA Medical Center.” 

“That’s awesome!” Tom isn’t sure he’s ever talked to the Red Rockers, but he’s seen them at the Caps’ home games. “I take it you like hockey?”

Madison and Christian nod. Jakub looks up from poking at the cookies and says, “I don’t think we can eat these.”

He looks so forlorn that Tom wants to laugh. 

“We don’t have any more cookie dough,” Jakub adds, and Tom tips from wanting to laugh to wanting to hug him.

Tom thinks about his relatively clean kitchen and the grocery delivery that was waiting for him when he got back to his apartment today. He considers the fact that his new neighbors almost started a fire with premade cookie dough.

“If you’re not too busy, why don’t you come over to my place?” he asks. “I’ve got flour and sugar and eggs. We can make new cookies.”

Jakub perks up. 

“You don’t mind?” Christian asks.

“It’ll be fun,” Tom replies.

“We’re in, then,” Madison says. “Thanks!”

Tom makes cookies while Madison and Jakub sit on his counter holding hands and Christian demonstrates a series of increasingly acrobatic yoga moves. It is fun, and the cookies are delicious.

When his new neighbors head back to their own apartment with the leftover cookies, Tom thinks about texting André, or at least Snapchatting him a picture of the mess in the sink. But he and André haven’t been talking much outside of practice. Giving him more space seems to mean cutting back on the constant life updates.

Tom puts his phone away. At least the apartment feels less empty than it did a few hours ago anyways.

 

THREE

Jakub sprawls across André’s couch with his head in André’s lap, dozy and content. A lot of André’s furniture is standard issue IKEA stuff. It’s the same stuff he and Madison and Christian have in their apartment, mostly thanks to Tommy helping them assemble it after the weird pictographic instructions nearly made Christian cry. This couch though, with its overstuffed, butter-soft, ocean blue cushions, deserves to have ballads sung about it. Too bad they’re both shit singers.

André is petting his hair, and Jakub can’t hold a thought about singing for very long at all. He can’t think about anything other than André’s fingers and André’s hands. André has big hands, big enough to cradle Jakub’s head, and long, skillful fingers. Those fingers are currently dancing along Jakub’s scalp, lighting him up and relaxing him all at once, like magic.

André’s fingers stop moving and Jakub whines wordlessly without thinking about it.

André chuckles. “Are you sure Christian needs to adopt a cat? He already has you.”

Jakub considers arguing. André starts petting his hair again. Jakub sighs happily instead, halfway asleep.

“Oh my god, you’re practically purring,” André giggles, scratching his nails gently against Jakub’s scalp.

“Christian needs me and a cat,” Jakub says nonsensically before he closes his eyes. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when André sticks his phone in front of his face and asks, “What about this one?”

Jakub slowly opens his eyes. André has the King Street Cats website open and has found the scruffiest tabby Jakub has ever seen. He’s pretty sure the cat has one eye, but he can’t tell for certain. 

“You said he wanted an older cat, right?” André prods.

Jakub nods against André’s lap.

“This guy’s description says he’s really sweet. He got picked up as a stray and he must have gotten in some nasty fights, but he likes people and kittens,” André says. “He deserves a proper chance.”

Jakub takes another look at the cat; Christian would probably love him. He scrolls down to look at the cat’s name. “Are you sure you don’t want to adopt Jasper?” he asks. André seems awfully invested.

“I travel too much for a cat,” André replies.

It’s a perfect opening to ask André about his life outside these pockets of time they spend wrapped up in each other. It’s been a month since they first hooked up and they’ve met nine times since then – not that Jakub is counting. He should really say that they’ve hooked up nine times since then; they’ve never even been outside of André’s apartment together. This, right now, this hour of hair petting and cat searching, may be the longest they’ve spent together not having sex or sleeping.

It’s nice, really nice, and Jakub doesn’t want to ruin it. “I’ll show Jasper to Christian,” he says. “I think he’d love him.”

“Good. Being tough doesn’t make you a bad person,” André says, tugging on Jakub’s hair for emphasis. “Or, um, a bad cat,” he finishes.

Jakub wants to ask why this is so important to André. André doesn’t exactly scream _tough guy_ himself – does he have hidden depths, or is there someone else out there he cares enough about to project whatever he feels for them onto this old, scrappy cat?

Those are the kinds of questions that will upset the balance between them, and Jakub really likes what they’re doing. Sometimes he wants more, but mostly he wants to keep what he has with André.

Jakub turns his face towards André’s stomach and noses at his fly until he sees where Jakub is going and enthusiastically joins in.

 

Afterwards, they lay there, side-by-side. The couch isn’t quite wide enough for it, but Jakub doesn’t mind that he’s half on top of André. André doesn’t seem to mind either. The wet spot is on a blanket that has been tossed to the floor because André is very clever and clearly loves this couch as much as Jakub does. There’s no reason to get up. Possibly ever.

Jakub tucks his face into the crook of André’s shoulder. He thinks about biting down on the long cords of muscle there, leaving a mark – he knows André likes those sorts of tangible reminders of what they’re doing – but honestly, that seems like too much effort. 

André starts rubbing circles on Jakub’s back. “You’re purring again,” he says. He sounds far away.

Jakub lets himself drift off.

 

He awakens to André squeezing his shoulder and murmuring something in Swedish. Jakub knows a lot of languages, but Swedish isn’t one of them. He bemoans that oversight now, because he needs to know what André is saying.

Jakub doesn’t open his eyes, but André must realize he’s awake because he switches to English. “Come on, V. You can’t sleep here,” he coaxes. Jakub didn’t think he could feel any fonder, but in light of André deciding that V is his pet name for Jakub, and using it ruthlessly, apparently he can. Jakub has never had a pet name before; he likes it a lot.

Jakub lets himself be tugged towards André’s bed and sat down on the edge of it. André strips him of his embarrassingly messy underwear, replacing them with clean, soft sweatpants, and rolling the legs up so they don’t hang over Jakub’s feet. Jakub likes wearing André’s clothes, even if they’re just Capitals sweatpants.

André stands over him, bracketing his legs around Jakub’s once he’s replaced his own briefs. “You look good,” he says.

“You do too,” Jakub replies. It’s true. André is long and toned, with frankly unfair muscles, and they’re all on display. 

Jakub rolls backwards until he can tuck himself under André’s duvet. André slides in behind him, curling his lanky body around Jakub and holding him close. It’s the best kind of coziness, like drinking hot chocolate in front of a fireplace after a snowball fight.

Jakub is so embarrassingly, ridiculously gone on this guy he barely knows. In his defense, the sex is spectacular and André says his name with an unbearably sweet lilt.

 

FOUR

André’s face throbs. He can barely feel his right eye, but the rest of his face aches with every beat of his heart. In retrospect, jumping into a fight two weeks into the season wasn’t his best idea ever, not when the fight put the Caps on the penalty kill and cost them the game. He’s less concerned about his face than he is about the possibility of Coach Trotz using this as an excuse to exile him to the press box, if his shitty play alone doesn’t seem like enough of a reason.

On the ice, it made perfect sense: the entire game had been scrappy, and then Nicke took a borderline hit at the start of the third. Two minutes later, Batya dropped his gloves after the whistle and suddenly everyone was fighting. André dove in and grabbed a green jersey.

Nicke was fine, certainly fine enough to join Tommy in clucking disapprovingly over André’s bloody lip and rapidly swelling eye. André wanted to tell them he was alright, that he could handle a little fighting, that he was a professional hockey player, not a child. The trainer had already told him to keep still, so he didn’t say anything.

Now that the game is over and the media has left, all he wants to do is fall asleep with a bag of frozen peas on his face. The adrenaline has worn off, he’s lowkey panicking over whether he has fucked up the start of his season, his face hurts, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have frozen peas at his new apartment.

He’s so distracted enough on his way to the parking garage that he completely misses the commotion at the end of the hallway until he hears a familiar voice scream, “Tommy!”

There’s Jakub in a Red Rocker uniform, running down the hallway and throwing himself into Tommy’s arms. 

Tommy laughs and lifts Jakub off his feet as Jakub wraps both arms around Tommy’s neck. André feels like he needs to sit down. Yesterday, he would have said there was never a time he didn’t want to see Jakub, but yesterday he would have been wrong.

Tommy sets Jakub back on his feet as two other Red Rockers join them, loudly congratulating Tommy on his goal in the second period and refusing to let him wave it off.

André would try to slip back into the locker room if half his teammates weren’t between him and the door. At least they’re gawking at Tommy and not is paying attention to André. 

Maybe Jakub won’t notice André either. He’s pretty focused on Tommy, too.

André is doing his best to melt into the wall when his luck runs out. Jakub steps back from Tommy and spots André there, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open.

“André?” he asks, his voice higher and louder than André has ever heard it.

“Hi. What are you doing here?” André asks, then immediately regrets asking something so dumb. It’s pretty obvious what Jakub is doing here.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” Jakub says, ignoring André’s question, and looking André up and down from where he’s standing in the middle of the hall.

“I didn’t know you –” André begins, but Jakub cuts him off.

“Oh my god! You’re a hockey player! You were in that fight! Are you okay?” He steps closer and reaches out, like he wants to touch André’s face, but lets his hand drop before it makes contact.

André brings his own hand up to gingerly brush his cheek. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” Jakub asks. “That looked really bad. You’re going to have a black eye.” He rubs his own cheek. André would bet money he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“I’ll look like a gangster, a bad boy,” André says, reaching for a lightness he doesn’t feel. He started thinking about telling Jakub about playing for the Capitals a couple weeks ago; he even came up with a few good plans for starting the conversation. None of them involved Jakub watching André lose a game for the Caps. 

He can’t tell whether Jakub is disappointed by the loss or the fight. It’s not like André actually know him all that well outside of bed. He wants to though, if this isn’t one more thing the he has managed to fuck up today.

He looks back at Jakub, but Jakub isn’t looking at him. He’s looking around the hallway, clearly taking in the half dozen hockey players standing around and fiddling with their phones in a transparent attempt to pretend they’re not eavesdropping. Jakub’s friends are openly staring at André.

André sighs. He just wants to go home.

Jakub meets André’s eyes. He looks overwhelmed. “Maybe we should talk?” he asks quietly. “Somewhere that isn’t so…” He waves a hand at the crowd behind him.

They should talk. Talking would be the mature thing to do, the right thing to do.

André knows that tone, though, knows what _we should talk_ means. He’s tired and his face hurts and he can’t handle getting broken up with tonight. He might as well do one more thing wrong. “Can we talk later? I need to get home.”

Jakub’s face shutters. André should have expected that, but he still hates seeing it.

He doesn’t this want to be the last he hears from Jakub. Jakub deserves the chance to yell at him properly. And maybe, a traitorous part of André’s mind suggests, if Jakub sleeps on it, he’ll decide he doesn’t mind hooking up with a second-rate hockey player who can’t even fight properly. “Text me, please,” André says.

Jakub nods jerkily, his face frozen and his posture tense. “Sure. We should get home too. I’ll text you.” He turns back to the other Red Rockers who are still standing next to Tommy. “Come on, let’s go home.”

André watches them walk away, feeling too wrung out to move.

Most of his teammates follow the Red Rockers out, clearly recognizing that André doesn’t want to talk about whatever just happened. 

Of course, Tommy doesn’t pick up on that, or doesn’t care. “What was that?” he asks, leaning against the wall next to André.

“Nothing,” André replies. It comes out shorter than he means it to.

Tommy pushes away from the wall and squints at André. “Are you okay? Do you want to sleep over tonight? I have a little experience dealing with fighting injuries.” He grins wryly.

It’s tempting. Tommy would feed him and cuddle him and turn on some mindless television and not make him talk about anything. Tommy probably has frozen peas. But André doesn’t think he could handle Tommy being kind on top of being good at hockey and fighting and apparently being Jakub’s favorite person ever.

“Thanks, but I just want to go home and sleep,” André says, stepping away from the wall himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He ignores the hurt that flashes across Tommy’s face and walks straight past Nicke who is lurking conspicuously, obviously wanting to talk.

He can make the right choices tomorrow and sort everything out then. 

 

FIVE

Nicke has more experience than he’d like, dealing with André when he’s upset. He’s seen André crying, close to punching walls, silently stony faced, and stomping through a tantrum. Nicke hates it, but he knows how to handle it, how to alternately hug André, wrestle him, talk to him in Swedish and English and made up languages, and give him space.

Nicke has no frame of reference for André making someone else cry. He’s used to André making the people around him happier and more affectionate. But Nicke saw the little Red Rocker blinking back tears and hustling out of the arena after talking to André. He can’t avoid the conclusion that André did something to upset him badly, precedent or no precedent.

Nicke needs to talk to André.

Sasha offers to do it for him, or at least be there with him – he knows that confronting their teammates about transgressions on and off the ice is Nicke’s least favorite part of being an alternate captain. Sasha doesn’t love it either, but he’s better at dealing with conflict instead of retreating from it.

If it were anyone else, Nicke would gladly accept Sasha’s offer, but André will always be Nicke’s rookie and he’s seemed fragile lately.

He tells Sasha as much that night: “He’s still mine to take care of.”

Sasha presses a kiss to Nicke’s lips. “I know.”

Nicke tucks his face into the crook of Sasha’s neck.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” Sasha says.

Nicke nods without lifting his head.

 

Nicke borrows one of the trainer’s rooms the following day and pulls André aside before practice.

André sits on the exam table and crosses his arms. Nicke can’t tell if he’s trying to pout or scowl; either way, he looks like a belligerent teenager. It doesn’t help that the bruising on his cheek has blossomed into a full-blown black eye. Nicke wants to ask if he’s icing it properly. 

He sets that line of questioning aside for later and asks instead, “What was going on with you and the Red Rockers yesterday?”

“Nothing,” André says.

Nicke crosses his arms and frowns at André.

André kicks his heel against the exam table, a frustrated swing that’s not hard enough to do any damage. “Can I go now if you’re just going to glare at me?” he asks petulantly, glaring at Nicke.

“No.” Nicke feels like he’s caught in the world’s least fun staring contest.

“I don’t have anything to tell you,” André snaps.

Nicke sighs. “I’m pretty sure you made that tiny Rocker cry. We need to talk about that.”

André’s face crumples and he pulls his knees to his chest. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

“Okay. What happened?” Nicke asks, still frowning.

“He didn’t want to date a hockey player, or at least not a bad one,” André says. “Maybe he wants to date Tommy.”

Of all the possibilities Nicke envisioned, this wasn’t one of them. He makes a mental note to revisit André calling himself a bad hockey player and saying Tom’s name with such disdain. For now, he should stay on topic. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts because he needs to say this right. He finds a smile, because André needs that right now. He wishes Sasha were here.

“André,” he says gently. “The Red Rockers work for the team. It’s not fair to ask them out, especially at work.”

André bites his lip. Nicke can see tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t actually ask him out, and I didn’t know he was a Red Rocker when we met.”

Nicke hates seeing André like this. He is also confused. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he suggests, sitting down next to André.

André immediately slumps into Nicke’s side, like a marionette whose strings have been severed. “Jakub and I met a month ago, on Grindr. And then we kept meeting up. Is that okay? I was going to tell him about playing hockey after it started to feel…” he trails off.

“That’s okay,” Nicke says. “You weren’t doing anything wrong.” He drapes an arm over André’s shoulders and waits for him to continue.

“I thought we were getting serious,” André says. “We spent an hour looking for cats for his roommate to adopt the last time we hung out. That should mean something, right?”

Nicke has only been in two serious relationships in his life and discussions about cats haven’t been part of either of them. “What did Jakub say yesterday?” he asks.

André sighs and tucks himself more tightly against Nicke’s side. “Not much. He wasn’t happy to see me and he seemed pissed about me getting in a fight.”

Nicke isn’t sure what to make of that. He wonders how much André’s account is colored by the general dejection he seems to be feeling right now. They’re also almost late for practice. 

“We need to get ready for practice, but we should talk more,” he says. “For what it’s worth, you might be looking at things in the worst possible light right now. There might be a brighter way to look at them.” Sometimes pointing out André’s negative thought patterns is enough to help him break free of them.

André smiles tentatively. “Do you really think so?” 

“Well, it’s definitely a possibility that I think is worth considering,” Nicke says. “And I’m usually right…”

“Oh, are you?” André rolls his eyes, but his smile grows.

“You know I am,” Nicke tells him, and André laughs as they head to the locker room to get ready for practice.

 

André sticks close to Nicke at practice. His mood does seem much improved: he keeps up a running stream of chatter and wraps himself around Tiger like an octopus when Tiger interrupts him. 

Nicke is half expecting it when André crushes him into the boards, but he isn’t expecting André’s question. 

“How did you do it?” André asks in Swedish.

“Do what?” Nicke replies, relaxing into André’s grip for a moment.

“Make Ovi fall in love with you,” André says, like it should be obvious.

Nicky spins them so he’s pinning André to the boards. “So now you want to talk about this? You never want to talk about Sasha.”

“Ew, Papa,” André whines, slapping a hand against Nicke’s chest. “I still don’t want to hear you be gross about him.”

“I am never gross about Sasha,” Nicke retorts.

André blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to bat his eyelashes. “Ooh, Sasha is so strong and so handsome and he plays hockey so well,” he says in a breathy tone.

“I don’t sound like that,” Nicke says, catching André’s arms as he tries to squirm away. He does want to help André, so he ignores the teasing and swallows back everything he has to say Sasha’s perfection. “Because I love you, I will not tell you about how amazing Sasha is. Today.”

André grins, sagging against the boards. “So how did you do it?”

“We went to Moscow together during the lockout and played hockey together and partied with Sasha’s friends,” Nicke tells him. He can feel himself smiling – Moscow was a really good time.

“I know all about your Russian vacation,” André says impatiently, knocking his knee against Nicke’s, “but how did you get together?”

Nicke thinks for a moment. He stands up straighter and lets go of André. “We played together and partied together and practically lived together and Sasha was one of the only people who spoke English. It just happened.”

André shoves him, scowling through his laughter. “You have the love of the century and your great advice is that _it just happens_? That’s completely unhelpful.” 

Nicke resists the urge to facewash him. “I think it worked out pretty well,” he says archly.

“I’m asking Ovi for romantic advice from now on,” André says, skating off.

Nicke would be offended if Sasha wasn’t so good at romance.

 

SIX

When TJ gets back to his office with a fresh cup of coffee, Jakub is sitting outside his door, legs crossed and head tipped back. He stands up when he sees TJ. “Hi, do you have a moment?”

“Of course, Jakub,” TJ says, opening the door. “Come on in.”

Jakub follows him in and perches on the edge of one of TJ’s overstuffed chairs, looking wide-eyed and nervous. He taps one hand against the chair cushion in an agitated staccato.

TJ sets his coffee down and walks back around his desk to sit on the other overstuffed chair. He has a feeling he’s not going to want a desk between them for whatever conversation Jakub is here for. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asks.

“I need to know if I did something wrong,” Jakub says, so hesitant that it’s clear he doesn’t want to say it at all. “If you need to fire me.”

That escalated quickly, TJ thinks, schooling the surprise off his face. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Jakub starts talking, sinking slowly back into his chair and telling TJ all about a month-long relationship. It’s a good story, even if that’s absolutely not what TJ should be focusing on right now. From the online meeting, through the mistaken identities, to the heartbreaking reveal of those identities, he couldn’t come up with a better plot for the first half of a romantic comedy if he tried. When Jakub finishes, he bites his lip and curls up as much as he can without putting his feet on the chair.

TJ can’t decide whether he wants to punch André Burakovsky or lock him in a closet with Jakub. The latter is probably a better option, if only because TJ isn’t all that good in a fight. On the other hand, recent evidence suggests that Burakovsky isn’t either.

“You’re absolutely not in trouble,” TJ says, leaning towards Jakub and smiling reassuringly. He hates that Jakub thought he would be. “Are you okay?” he asks again.

“André told me to text him,” Jakub says, then – “I want to date him. Like make it properly official and everything. How do I tell him that?”

None of that answers TJ’s question; Jakub probably doesn’t have a tidy answer.

TJ moves on and gives Jakub’s question the consideration it deserves. He dismisses the obvious answer – text him and ask him out. If Jakub wanted to do that, he wouldn’t be asking TJ for advice. He also dismisses the idea of suggesting that sometimes moving on is the best way to deal with a crush. Jakub has clearly decided he doesn’t want to move on yet.

“You can’t go wrong with classic romance. Handwritten notes and flowers are always good,” he says. “Write him a note about how you feel. I can hook you up with Carly over in Events and he’ll help you put together some flowers.”

Jakub’s face lights up. “Do you think that will work?” he asks.

TJ has no idea whether or not it will work. That depends entirely on Burakovsky. “I think it’s worth trying,” he answers. “And no matter what happens, remember that you’re worth dating and you deserve someone who cares about you.”

“Thanks,” Jakub says, flushing pink.

TJ stands up and lets Jakub pull him into a loose hug. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you at the game tonight,” he says.

 

The last thing TJ is expecting is a call from Alexander Ovechkin five minutes after he gets to work. He didn’t even know Ovechkin’s number was programmed into his office phone’s caller ID.

“There are flowers and pompoms in the locker room,” Ovechkin growls, in lieu of a greeting. “Did the Red Rockers have anything to do with that?” 

TJ goes tense so fast his chair spins. He plants his feet on the floor to still it. “It’s my fault,” he says. He has no idea if Ovechkin could get Jakub fired and he doesn’t want to find out. Besides, he did suggest the flowers.

“Did you forget about Nicke’s allergies?” Ovechkin asks sharply. “Nicke is very allergic to flowers.”

“I am so sorry,” TJ replies. He’s not sure anyone ever briefed him on Bäckström’s allergies, but he feels terrible nonetheless. They must be pretty bad if Ovechkin is reacting like this. 

“It’s okay,” Ovechkin says, more gently. “I put them in the hallway. Isabelle can have them when she comes for press. She likes flowers.”

“That would be nice,” TJ says, trying to figure out how he can retrieve whatever note Jakub wrote to go with the flowers before then. Isabelle is very nice, but Jakub doesn’t know her, and she doesn’t need to see that. “Seriously, though, I’m sorry. I assumed Bäckström would like the flowers. That was completely a mistake on my part.”

“They were lovely. Were they for Nicke?” Ovechkin asks. “Are you trying to woo him?”

“No?” TJ should sound more confident, but he was hardly expecting this line of questioning.

“It’s not a problem as long as you do it right. Sending Nicke flowers was very sloppy,” Ovechkin explains, obviously warming to the idea. TJ has no idea what to do with his enthusiasm.

Ovechkin keeps talking into the quiet. “You should know that Nicke and I are together now. We’re mostly a package deal.”

“Oh.” TJ feels like the conversation is rapidly coming unmoored from reality. He’s pretty sure Ovechkin just revealed that he is in a relationship with Bäckström and invited TJ to have a threesome with them. He thinks he can be excused for not knowing how to respond besides saying, “Thank you for telling me.”

“Of course. You should know,” Ovechkin says. “You still have to court Nicke the right way. He likes surprise trips and Swedish food and action movies and fountains. He’s allergic to plants and a little scared of unfamiliar dogs. And he likes it when you pay attention to his hockey.”

“That’s good to know,” TJ replies. He feels like he should be taking notes, even though this absolutely isn’t information he will ever need.

“Nicke deserves to be courted properly,” Ovechkin says. 

TJ nods, then remembers Ovechkin can’t see him. “Uh huh.” He hopes Ovechkin takes it as agreement.

“I’ll tell Isabelle to thank you for the flowers. Next time, you should include a card with your gift so Nicke knows to appreciate you.”

Right, TJ was worried about Jakub’s card winding up with a near stranger. Well, it’s good to know he doesn’t have to stress about that at least. He should talk to Jakub about communicating his feelings more explicitly, though. Just leaving flowers isn’t enough; it obviously leads to confusion.

“Thank you,” TJ says.

“It’s not a problem at all,” Ovechkin replies, before he hangs up.

 

TJ pulls Jakub aside after the next game to tell him that his flowers never made it to Burakovsky. He explains about Bäckström’s allergies and lets Jakub know one of the beat reporters really appreciated the flowers.

He absolutely does not mention that he has spent the last two days imagining what it would be like to lick lingonberry jam off of Nicklas Bäckström in a fountain while Alex Ovechkin watched. Getting involved with two hockey players is probably a bad idea. Licking jam off of hockey players in public fountains is absolutely a path to public indecency arrests and bacterial infections with unpronounceable names. TJ should put it out of his mind.

“Thanks anyways,” Jakub says, smiling, and pulling TJ out of his thoughts. “I’m glad someone enjoyed them.”

He looks so much happier that TJ wonders if he’s moving on from this particular crush. Moving on from crushes is such a good idea.

 

SEVEN

Sasha isn’t surprised when André corners him after practice: he clearly needs to talk and last week’s moodiness has lifted enough that he probably wants to, as well. Even so, he fails to anticipate André barreling into him hard enough to push him into his stall and then sitting on his lap. Next to them, Zhenya chokes out something about André’s growing muscles through his wheezing laughter. André swats at Zhenya and Zhenya ruffles his hair before heading to the showers.

Sasha tips André unceremoniously off his lap and into an undignified heap on the locker room floor. He snickers as André squawks: it would hardly do to let the kid get cocky.

André untangles himself and sits up, leaning against Sasha’s knee where Sasha is still sitting in his stall. “You have to help me,” he says plaintively.

“Oh, do I?” Sasha laughs, scrubbing a hand through André’s hair.

“Yes!” André peers up at him. “I need advice and Papa is useless.”

“Nicke is never useless.” Sasha pinches André’s ear.

“Ouch!” André elbows Sasha’s shin in retaliation. “Papa is the most useless at romance.”

Sasha ignores the elbow because André isn’t exactly wrong. He pats André’s shoulder. “Get dressed and I’ll buy lunch and teach you all about romance.”

André jumps up. “Thank you!” He strides back to his own stall, then throws over his shoulder, “I’m telling Papa you think he’s an unromantic troll.”

“Good luck getting him to believe you. Nicke knows he’s beautiful.” Nicke also knows that Sasha couldn’t care less that he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Nicke shows his love in other ways.

“Ew!” André clamps his hands over his ears. "You’re worse than him!”

 

André seems to have decided that Sasha isn’t so bad once they’re seated at a quiet table at the back of Sasha’s third favorite steakhouse and giving their orders to a waiter. At least, he’s trying to play footsie with Sasha under the table, so Sasha assumes he’s forgiven for loving Nicke out loud.

“So is your interest in romance hypothetical or practical?” Sasha asks after the waiter leaves, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

André looks up from fiddling with his phone. “Practical. I want to ask Jakub out on a real date.” He’s clearly assuming Nicke has told Sasha all about Vrána, and to be fair, Nicke has. 

Based on what Nicke said, André and Vrána made each other happy. Sasha hopes they work things out. When a giant bouquet of flowers and pompons showed up in the locker room a few days ago, he thought they might be Vrána’s clumsy way of reaching out to André. It’s hard to be disappointed though, when Nicke is so intrigued by the prospect of being wooed by Timothy Oshie.

André continues, clenching and unclenching one hand around his napkin-wrapped silverware. “Jakub said he would text me when we ran into each other at the game last week, but he hasn’t said anything since. Maybe he isn’t interested at all.” 

Vrána would hardly be the first person to decide that dating a professional hockey player wasn’t worth the bother, but it isn’t time for sad stories yet. It’s time for encouragement, with a healthy dose of caution to be respectful. “You could text him first, or call him,” Sasha tells André.

André rolls his eyes. “First, no one calls anyone anymore. Unless they’re old. Second, I know that. I don’t know what to do after that. How do I tell him I think he’s wonderful and beautiful and that we would make amazing boyfriends?”

Sasha lets the dig at his age slide; he’ll get André back later. For now, he lets himself be pleasantly surprised that André has good ideas about communication.

André interrupts Sasha’s musings: “Don’t say I should tell him that. I’m asking you for help because I need to do something exciting to show him he’s special. Even if he doesn’t want to date me.”

Sasha grins. He would argue that talking to someone you care about can be exciting, but he likes the way André is thinking and he’s more than happy to provide exciting romance ideas.

Their food arrives then, and they let the conversation lag as they dig in.

“What kinds of things does Jakub like?” Sasha asks, when his steak is mostly gone and André’s is halfway finished.

“Um, we didn’t talk much,” André mumbles, going pink. “We mostly, you know…”

“Well sure,” Sasha agrees. Chirping André about his inability to say the word sex isn’t worth derailing the conversation. “But you know him well enough to want to date him – you’ve noticed things about him, even if you haven’t talked. Half of romance is picking up on the tiny details about someone. Did you know that Nicke likes –”

André drops his fork with a clatter and covers his ears again. 

Sasha laughs. He was going to tell André about discovering that Nicke’s favorite candy is Peeps, when everyone assumes it’s some sort of Swedish chocolate or salt licorice, and about how he presents Nicke with a basket of seasonally appropriate Peeps every holiday. Maybe it’s for the best that he doesn’t share that particular insight.

André lowers his hands and starts talking when Sasha mimes zipping his lips. “Jakub is good friends with his roommates – he likes them a lot. He likes cats too. And massages. Mangoes are his favorite fruit. Tommy might be his favorite person.” André’s mouth twists unhappily for a moment. “He loves singing in Czech. And singing along to Demi Lovato. And dancing. He hasn’t been to the Smithsonians yet, but he wants to go to all of them.” André looks surprised at himself.

“See, you do know a lot about him,” Sasha says.

“What do I do with all of this?” André asks. He’s practically vibrating in his seat.

Sasha considers. André has such a variety of knowledge and he seems committed to doing something big. “You could plan a scavenger hunt with a step for everything Jakub likes,” he suggests. 

André frowns thoughtfully for a moment, and then smiles, wide and bright. “This is why I came to you for advice. I can include everything and we can end with karaoke! Or the air and space museum! Rockets are sexy.”

Sasha nearly spits out a mouthful of potatoes. He has no idea how André can say things like that with no trace of self consciousness when he can’t even say he had sex with a guy he likes.

“Going to a museum could just be a friend thing too,” André muses, his eyes going unfocused as he thinks. “So if he doesn’t want to date me, maybe we can still hang out and have fun.”

It’s an awkward segue, but one that Sasha needs to make. “Scavenger hunts are fun to do with friends,” he says. “They’re also fun to plan with friends. If you plan one with someone you’re already friends with, you’ll have lots of time to talk things out.”

André sighs. “I’ll fix things with Tommy,” he says, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

Sasha was hoping for a more enthusiastic response regarding the rift between his remaining brobeans, but he’ll take it for now.

“You’re a good person,” Sasha says, because it’s true. Whatever weird ideas André has, he has good ideas too. And a good heart.

“Thanks,” André replies. He’s pink-cheeked and almost smiling again. Sasha really hopes he and Jakub make each other happy.

 

EIGHT

Braden hums the chorus to _Wicked Little Town_ as the Red Rockers file out of his studio in pairs and trios. He feels good about this group – more than half of them are new this year, but they just learned the trickiest choreography he has planned for them nearly flawlessly. Even though the trickiest choreography isn’t very advanced, he’s still pleased. Maybe he should see if any of these kids are interested in staging an amatuer ballet.

Braden is weighing the relative merits of _Swan Lake_ and _Maple Leaf Rag_ when he notices Jakub standing near the back mirror, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. He stops humming. “Jakub, anything I can help you with?”

Jakub’s head jerks up, startled, as though he hadn’t expected Braden to notice him lingering. “I have a question, but it’s kind of weird,” he says, hugging his backpack to his chest.

Braden gestures to himself, from his ancient Birkenstocks to his tie-dye bandana. “You’ve probably come to the right place, then,” he says, laughing a little.

“Oh. I didn’t mean…” Jakub’s shoulders tense as he hugs his backpack more tightly.

“Of course not. I said it, not you,” Braden tells him. “What did you want to ask?”

Jakub finally sets his backack down and slouches against the wall. “Do you have any advice for asking out a hockey player?”

Braden crosses the room and folds himself down to sit next to where Jakub is standing.

Jakub sits down next to him and pulls his knees to his chest. He looks incredibly young.

Braden looks at him sideways. He remembers his own fascination with Alexander Semin’s figure skating moves and easy laugh, and his subsequent heartbreak when Semin was traded, and then returned to Russia, before Braden ever talked to him. He doesn’t want Jakub to feel that.

“I know we get a front row seat to these guys at their games, but you have to remember you don’t really know them, and they definitely don’t know you,” Braden says carefully.

“It’s not like that,” Jakub replies quickly.

“No?” Braden isn’t really sure what else it could be like.

“André and I met online and we hooked up for a month before I realized he played for the Capitals. He had no idea who I was either.” Jakub turns to look at Braden and he must misread the surprise on Braden’s face, because he quickly adds, “TJ already said we didn’t break any rules.”

“I’m just surprised you didn’t know who he was,” Braden says.

“I don’t pay much attention to hockey?” Jakub shrugs. “Besides, it’s impossible to tell who anyone is under the pads and helmets.”

Braden will happily concede the second point, but, “How did you end up on the cheer squad for a professional hockey team if you don’t pay attention to hockey?”

“I live with Madison and Christian and they’re huge Caps fans,” Jakub explains. “I just thought cheerleading sounded fun. I’m learning more about hockey now.”

“And you’ve gotten to know Burakovsky,” Braden adds.

“Tom Wilson, too. He’s our neighbor, and I think he feels responsible for us,” Jakub says, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Braden wonders momentarily if they’re talking about the same hockey team. “Tom Wilson feels responsible for you?” He can hear his voice going high and surprised. “The same Tom Wilson who fought Chara last week?” 

“Tommy’s actually a giant softy. Last night, he came over to get rid of a spider that was scaring Madison, and he caught it under a cup and took it outside,” Jakub says. “He seems to think he has to take care of us even though Christian can cook and Madison has a driver’s license.” He looks a little sheepish. 

Braden wonders if he should ask what Jakub contributes to what sounds like a minimally functional household. Maybe he should track Wilson down and thank him for keeping his neighbors alive. He realizes he should clarify: “You and Wilson are just friends?”

“Oh yeah,” Jakub says quickly. “André is the only hockey player I want to date.”

“And you want my help asking him out?” Braden asks, shaking the image of Wilson tenderly carrying a spider to a courtyard out of his head.

“Yes! TJ suggested sending flowers, but those set off Bäckström’s allergies before André got them, so Ovechkin gave them to a reporter,” Jakub says. 

Making any of the Caps sick is the absolute last thing they should be doing. “No one is allergic to music, right?” Braden muses.

“I don’t think so?” Jakub doesn’t sound certain.

Braden jumps up and goes to the closet where he keeps his guitar. He pulls it out and strums a few chords. It really needs to be tuned.

Jakub shakes his head. “Oh, no no no! I’m not musical. I’ll scare him off if I try to play something.”

That’s a disappointment. There’s probably not time for Jakub to learn to play an instrument if he wants to ask Burakovsky out anytime soon. Braden puts the guitar back in its case and sets it aside.

Jakub stretches his arms over his head. “André liked it when I sang in the shower, but I’m pretty sure that’s because he sings really badly too. And it was an invitation to join me in the shower.”

Objectively terrible duets could certainly be romantic, but it’s probably best to stay away from shower-sex adjacent activities for a bit, if Jakub wants move the relationship from hooking up to dating.

Braden paces the length of the room, thinking. “You could make André a mixtape,” he suggests.

Jakub frowns. “You mean, like a playlist?’

Braden does not mean _like a playlist_. “It has to be a cassette tape,” he says firmly. “Being retro is part of the romance.”

Jakub nods. “A cassette would be easier to deliver too.”

“Don’t just include his favorite songs,” Braden says. “Pay attention to what order you’re putting them in and make sure they tell a story about the two of you together.”

“I think I can do that,” Jakub says, slowly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Braden holds out both hands to pull Jakub off the floor. “Good luck!”

He starts humming again when Jakub leaves.

 

NINE

Jakub spends half an hour on the couch googling how to record music on a cassette tape before giving up in despair. He’s pretty sure it requires at least three pieces of equipment he doesn’t have. Including the cassette tape. He could probably order that online, but he’s scared to order anything else. What if he orders the wrong thing, or ends up with old stuff that doesn’t work? Everything looks expensive and difficult to return.

Christian and Madison were useless when he asked them yesterday, and they’re not even home now. He could ask Braden, but they don’t have cheer practice until the end of next week and he doesn’t want to wait that long. Maybe TJ or Tommy knows something, but Jakub is skeptical. On the other hand, he doesn’t really have any other options.

Jakub texts Tommy after another minute’s consideration, hoping that his knowledge of adult life skills extends to outdated electronics. 

Tommy replies _Are you home? Come over_ , and Jakub levers himself off the couch. He doesn’t bother with shoes.

Tommy is in the middle of making lunch. He waves Jakub over to one of the stools at his kitchen island. “Do you want a sandwich? I think I have leftover pasta too.”

“A sandwich would be great. Thanks,” Jakub replies, sitting on the island itself, instead of the stool.

Tommy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t ask Jakub to move. He pops four slices of bread into the toaster and asks, “Why do you want to make a mixtape? Are you trying to reenact a nineties romcom?”

Jakub can feel himself blushing. He covers his face with his hands.

“You are!” Tommy crows. “Who’s the lucky guy? Or girl?” He leans against the refrigerator and peers at Jakub. “Wait, you and Madison aren’t dating, right? The hand holding is just something you do?”

Jakub lowers his hands. “We hold hands for good luck.”

Tommy laughs. “You guys would make good hockey players. You’ve already got the quirky superstitions down.” The bread pops up and he transfers it to two plates.

“So hockey players like quirky?” Jakub asks. “Mixtapes are kind of quirky, right?”

“Are you asking a hockey player out? Is it one of my teammates?” Tommy asks, delightedly, before turning to the refrigerator. Jakub is grateful when he busies himself pulling out a small mountain of vegetables and lunch meats and condiments without waiting for an answer, at least until Tommy sets everything on the island next to Jakub and raises his eyebrows. 

“Um, yeah,” Jakub says, letting his head tip sideways to rest against Tommy’s shoulder.

“Hey, they’re good guys. And any of them would be lucky to date you.” Tommy rubs a hand down Jakub’s back. “Is it Beagle? Is that why you’re making a mixtape?”

Jakub has no idea who Beagle is. “You have a teammate who still listens to cassettes?” he asks, sitting up so Tommy can see how incredulous he is.

“I don’t know if he listens to cassettes, but he still uses a flip phone,” Tommy says. “Why are you making a mixtape anyways?”

“Braden – he’s our choreographer – said it would be retro and romantic.” Jakub realizes that sounds silly as he says it, but it’s not like he has any better ideas.

Tommy adds a slice of tomato and a few lettuce leaves to both rapidly growing sandwiches. “First, that’s adorable. Second, I don’t want to say Braden is wrong, because he sounds awesome, but I doubt most of the guys have cassette players, so they couldn’t listen to your mixtape. With the possible exception of Beagle, but he’s old-fashioned. And old.” He spreads mustard on both sandwiches. “Do you like older guys?”

Jakub shakes his head. “No, not really,” he replies, worrying the fabric of his shirt between his fingers. “I like André, André Burakovsky, you know?”

“Of course I know André! He’s my best friend!” Tommy exclaims, fumbling the package of cheese he’s holding. “Don’t make him a mixtape – he’ll have no idea what to do with it.”

“Yeah? What should I do?” Jakub sits up straighter. He should have asked Tommy about this weeks ago. He would have if he’d know Tommy and André were friends. Honestly, he’s a little surprised it never came up: he and André didn’t talk that much, but he did tell André a lot about his friends. 

Tommy doesn’t say anything as he hands Jakub a plate with a very tall sandwich. 

“Thank you,” Jakub says.

Tommy nods and turns to pour them both glasses of water. Jakub thinks he’s avoiding the question, but he has no idea why. 

Tommy sets both glasses down next to Jakub and sits down on one of the island stools, seemingly unconcerned that Jakub is still sitting on the island. He takes a bite of his sandwich, chews, and swallows. “Honestly, just talk to Burky. He’s really easy-going. You two would probably be great together,” he finally says.

“Yeah?” Jakub nibbles on his sandwich.

“Aw, don’t be scared of talking to him.” Tommy ruffles Jakub’s hair. “Burky doesn’t bite.”

Jakub chokes on his sandwich at a sudden, intense memory of the times André did bite. At least he can blame his reddening face on the coughing.

Tommy slaps his back. “Are you okay?”

Jakub nods. He’s fine. André probably never mentioned him to Tommy because André had no idea they knew each other. It’s not like Jakub ever told him they were neighbors. There’s no reason that André’s best friend not knowing about Jakub should sting. 

Jakub takes another few bites of his sandwich. It’s really good. He wants to ask Tommy what type of bread he used. Instead, he asks, “Has André mentioned me at all in the past month? Or not me, I guess, but a new guy he was seeing?”

“You’re seeing André?” Tom asks, setting his water glass down hard. “Seeing as in dating?” He doesn’t exactly sound happy about it.

Jakub winces. He doesn’t want to ruin his friendship with Tommy over a guy who may not even want to speak to him again. He really hopes he hasn’t stumbled into some sticky part of Tommy’s dating history. “I’m sorry,” he says, so cautiously it’s almost a question.

“Hey, no, I’m not upset,” Tommy says immediately, setting a hand on Jakub’s knee. He doesn’t say anything else.

“It’s okay if you are. If you guys have history or something,” Jakub says. “He’s your best friend. He’s just some guy I met on Grindr.” The words feel viscerally wrong as he says them. André isn’t just some guy, or at least Jakub doesn’t want him to be. But ten hook-ups is nothing compared to best friends. 

“Oh my god, no!” Tommy exclaims, shaking his head. “Burky and I don’t have history, not like that anyways. I can’t imagine us dating each other.”

Tommy takes a bite of his sandwich, but it seems like he has more to say, so Jakub takes a bite of his own sandwich and gives him a moment to figure it out.

“I can’t believe you two met on Grindr,” Tommy finally says. “You had no idea who he was, did you?”

Jakub shakes his head. “You know I just started following hockey.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tommy smiles, but it’s brittle. “And I really am fine with it, if you want to make things official with André or whatever.”

Jakub carefully knocks his leg against Tommy’s side. “Are you sure?” He doesn’t know what else to say, what else to ask.

Tommy sighs and pulls his hand away from Jakub to run it through his hair. “Listen, André’s my best friend, but we haven’t been great lately. He moved out at the end of last season, which is fine, but we’re still figuring out how we work when we don’t live together. We just haven’t been talking much. We’ll figure it out. It really doesn’t have anything to do with you. I promise I’m fine with you two dating.”

Jakub can’t imagine not talking to Madison and Christian for months. “That sucks! I’m sorry,” he nudges his shoulder against Tommy’s.

“Thanks,” Tommy says, patting Jakub’s shoulder. “We’ll work it out. I need to stop being a wimp about talking to him.”

Jakub can relate. He’s been worrying about flowers and mixtapes, when he still hasn’t texted André back. “Um, I probably should too.”

Tommy looks stricken. “You guys aren’t talking?” 

Jakub finishes the last bit of his sandwich to buy himself time. He’s already talked this through too many times to count with Christian and Madison and his sister, but it still hurts to say: “I saw André at the same game we ran into you at, and I don’t know exactly what happened, but he definitely wasn’t happy to see me, and we haven’t talked since.” Jakub closes his eyes and breathes. “He told me to text him, but I guess I’m being a wimp about talking to him too.”

Tommy stands up and wraps his arms around Jakub. It’s a little awkward because Jakub still has his plate in his lap, but it helps. Jakub leans his head against Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Tommy says, before stepping back. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure you caught André on a really bad day. I can’t imagine him being unhappy to see you because of you.”

“Yeah?” Jakub can hear how uncertain his voice sounds.

“Absolutely,” Tommy assures him. “Now that you’ve said it, I can see you two being really good for each other.”

Jakub would rather hear that from André, but hearing it from Tommy certainly counts for something. “So you’re saying we both need to get over ourselves and talk to André?” he says.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Tommy flashes him a wry smile. 

“You don’t even have the excuse of worrying about him biting,” Jakub adds.

Tommy barks out a laugh, covering his face with his arm for a moment. “Actually, Burky’s bitten me a few times. He fights dirty.”

“Does it really count as fighting dirty when you’re so much bigger than him?” Jakub widens his eyes innocently.

“Oh my god!” Tommy groans. “I see exactly how you two get along!” He grabs Jakub in a headlock, but lets go after a moment. “You’re right though. We’re being ridiculous about this and we should both really talk to Burky. I’ll talk to him if you do it too? This week?”

Jakub nods. “Shake on it?” He holds out his hand.

Tommy grabs Jakub’s hand in both of his and shakes it. “Good! Let’s do this. Let’s get our guy back.”

“Hell yeah,” Jakub agrees, with a bit more confidence than he feels. “Let’s do this!”

 

TEN

Tom was planning to talk to Burky later in the week, but they’re both here at Ovi and Nicky’s Halloween party and Tom is tipsy enough that talking now seems like a good idea. 

Plus, his costume is making him a little sad. It’s not that he isn’t pretty pleased with the seven dwarfs group costume – the beard he’s wearing as Doc is ridiculous and magnificent, and he had fun planning everything with Conno and Chorns and Stevie – but it would absolutely be better with André involved too. Or with both André and Jakub involved. Most of his teammates’ significant others are here, and he knows Jakub would enjoy a costume party.

That’s what Tom is thinking about when he finds Burky in the gameroom. There had been a lively game of beer pong in here earlier, but most of the guys have cleared out. Now, it’s just Devo sitting on the couch with Burky slumped dozily against his chest and Grubi perched on the pong table. Grubi is throwing stray pong balls at Devo, and Devo is batting them away while they talk about… something. Tom isn’t really sure. 

Devo looks over at Tom when he sinks into the opposite end of the couch and then glances unsubtly at Burky. “You want to talk to him now?”

Tom should really apologize to the entire team for getting them caught in the crossfire of his and Burky’s issues. God, Devo has barely been with the Caps for a month, and he’s picked up on it.

Tom nods at Devo, flashing him a sheepish smile, and Devo carefully stands up. André whines, but doesn’t wake as Devo settles him against the couch cushions.

“Thanks, man,” Tom says quietly.

“Grubi and I are going to see what Ovi’s mixing with that Russian moonshine he calls vodka,” Devo says.

Grubi hops off the table, cackling quietly, then sobering. He points at Burky. “Fix this.”

“I will,” Tom assures them, and waits until they’re up the stairs to shake Burky’s ankles.

Burky kicks at him, and Tom is grateful that he didn’t let go of the foot with a shoe on it. He doesn’t see Burky’s other shoe anywhere, but they can find it later. “Burky, come on,” he says.

Burky grunts something unintelligible and tries to burrow into the couch cushions even though he’s lying on his back. Tom feels guilty for waking him up.

When Burky doesn’t succeed in burying himself, he opens his eyes. “Tommy?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Tom squeezes Burky’s ankle.

Burky starts to sit up, then flops back over when he’s halfway there. Tom would laugh if everything didn’t feel so fragile.

“What are you doing here?” Burky asks. He’s not slurring his words, even though he looks pretty fuzzy.

Tom swallows back a wince. It shouldn’t be noteworthy that he sought Burky out, but they’ve barely talked for over a month, so here they are. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

Burky sticks both his feet in Tom’s lap. It’s a good sign, even though it means that Tom now has a sweaty sock and a Gucci loafer in his lap.

Burky doesn’t seem inclined to say anything, so Tom starts talking again. “Things have been weird this season, and I know that’s at least partially my fault because I’ve been weird about you moving out. You said you wanted space and I respect that, seriously. But I guess I have no idea what space means. I want to tell you things all the time but I stop myself so I’m not crowding you or something, and now I feel like I never talk to you.” Tom realizes he’s rambling. “So I’m really sorry and I miss you a lot.”

He hears a snuffling noise in the sudden quiet, and he’s afraid Burky has fallen asleep again, until Burky sits up in a flurry of uncoordinated limbs and launches himself across the couch. He wraps both arms around Tom’s neck and buries his face against Tom’s shoulder. His face is wet.

Tom winds one arm around Burky’s back and rests a hand on the back of Burky’s neck. He starts murmuring the sort of meaningless words of comfort he remembers his parents using when he was young enough to be distraught by every loss. He doesn’t know what else to say and they helped then.

Burky eventually pulls back and swipes a hand across his eyes. He doesn’t let go of Tom’s neck, so Tom doesn’t let go of him either.

“I’m sorry too,” Burky says, sniffling. “I miss you all the time. Like, I don’t want to move back in, but I really miss being best friends.”

Wow. That’s a fresh hurt. Tom hadn’t processed that they stopped being best friends. He squeezes the back of Burky’s neck. “Then we’ll go back to being best friends,” he says.

Burky leans his head against Tom’s shoulder, so he’s talking more to Tom’s neck than to his face. “I’m really sorry I’ve been ignoring you. I didn’t really know how to handle moving out either. And then you were playing well, and Jakub liked you, and I was jealous, and I know that’s a shitty excuse for being a dick to you. I’m sorry and I want to be better.” He’s crying harder.

“Hey, woah.” Tom cups the back of Burky’s head with his palm. “It’s okay,” he says with a conviction he doesn’t quite feel. He holds on until Burky sniffles and straightens up.

“I’m sorry,” Burky repeats.

Tom wraps both arms back around Burky. “I am too,” he says.

“Do you think we can be okay?” Burky asks, blinking. His eyes are bright with unshed tears.

Tom feels a little like he might cry too. “Well, I want to, and you want to,” Tom answers, thinking aloud. “I think we can make it work.”

“I really want to make it work.” Burky hugs him tight.

“I do too,” Tom agrees. There’s something else he needs to sort out. “Burky, you know Jakub’s just my neighbor, right?” he asks after a moment.

Burky pulls back. “He’s your neighbor?”

Tom nods. “He moved in down the hallway with two of the other Red Rockers.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Tension drains out of Burky’s face, but he doesn’t elaborate on what’s good.

Tom doesn’t have the energy to dive into Burky and Jakub’s problems right now and he’s not sure how much of that conversation is really his to have, but he should let Burky know that they’ve discussed him. “We’ve talked a little,” he says. “He mentioned you. You should talk to him.”

“You’re not going to tell me what he said, are you?” Burky asks. He seems to know the answer already.

It isn’t Tom’s conversation to have, but he doesn’t want Burky stressing about it. “Nothing bad, but…”

“I should talk to him,” Burky finishes for him.

Tom nods. “We should talk to each other too. Like we used to.”

“We really should,” Burky agrees. “I had no idea you and Jakub were neighbors. That’s going to be fantastic.”

Tom really hopes it is fantastic, and not awkward. ”Seriously, are we good?” he asks

“We’re good,” Burky assures him, wrapping him back up in a long-limbed hug.

Tom knows they’re not quite okay yet: they still have at least a handful of painful conversations before they’ll get there. But they are going to get there. They are going to be okay.

 

ELEVEN

Jakub pours himself a bowl of cereal, sits down to breakfast, and opens his text conversation with André. Then he lets himself get distracted a half dozen times – by the coffee pot beeping at him, by Christian stealing a spoonful of his cereal, by Madison coaxing Tommy-the-cat off his favorite chair with far too many treats.

Every time he glances down at his phone, their last messages stare up at him like a challenge.

From Jakub to André: a shirtless selfie with Tommy-the-cat. Jakub went with Christian to look at cats the day before he sent the picture, and steered him to the battleworn tomcat André felt so strongly about. Christian had fallen in love with him. They renamed him later, after Tommy came away from yet another fight looking a little battleworn himself.

From André to Jakub: _I told you he was the one!_ , followed by a full line of heart-eye emojis. Jakub would have replied, but he was rushing out the door to make it to a game on time when he got André’s message. He ran into André after the game, and suddenly, texting André back felt like a herculean task.

“I’m texting André,” Jakub says. His roommates have been listening to him stress about André for two weeks. They deserve to know he’s doing something productive. Also, if he says it aloud, maybe he’ll actually do it.

Madison reaches across the table and squeezes Jakub’s hand. “Good for you.”

Christian opens the freezer and peers inside. “If he ignores you, fuck him. We have two and a half bottles of vodka.”

Tommy-the-cat curls up on Jakub’s foot.

“Thanks,” Jakub says. He hopes he doesn’t need the vodka.

He has been thinking about what to say for a week now and and already made Madison and Christian give him their opinions on a dozen potential messages. He doesn’t need to think now.

Jakub types out _I’d like to talk to you soon. Is there a time and place we could meet up?_ and hits send. He lets out a deep breath; he can’t do anything else.

Christian knocks his elbow against Jakub’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s play _Rocket League_ and not think for a few hours.

Madison squeezes his hand again.

“You guys are the best,” he tells them.

Madison smiles. “Let’s see if you’re still saying that when we wipe the floor with you.”

Jakub laughs. He normally wins _Rocket League_.

Halfway through their first round, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He nearly drops his controller as he pulls it out.

Christian pauses the game without comment, which tells Jakub everything he needs to know about how delicate he seems right now. He can’t bring himself to mind, especially when there’s a notification from André on his lockscreen.

“André?” Madison asks from the other end of the couch. 

Right, Jakub is just staring at his phone. He nods and unlocks it. He reads André’s message, and then rereads it. _We can absolutely talk! Sorry I was such a dick when we met at the rink. I have no idea what you want, but I’d love to talk to you, and if you want to break up with me you absolutely deserve the chance to do it in person._

“He thinks I want to break up with him,” Jakub says faintly. “Maybe he wants to break up with me and he doesn’t want to say it so he’s trying to get me to break up with him.”

Christian leans over to look at André’s message. “I think you’re reading too much into that,” he says.

“You could tell him you don’t want to break up,” Madison suggests.

Jakub’s phone buzzes again. _Lunch today? If you want. You pick a place. Or some other time_ Jakub can practically feel the tension through his phone – how nervous is André about this?

He replies _I don’t want to break up_ , because he can’t bear the thought of André being scared.

_I don’t either!_ he receives immediately and he slumps back in relief.

“I don’t think we’re breaking up,” Jakub says. “We both said we don’t want to.”

“I told you,” Christian laughs, reaching over to squeeze Jakub’s thigh.

Jakub settles his hand over Christian’s and squeezes back. He doesn’t feel like laughing quite yet. “André and I still need to talk.”

Madison nods. “That’s probably a good idea.”

Jakub suggests a taco place close enough to the apartment that he can walk, and André agrees to meet him there for an early lunch. Jakub has exactly an hour to get ready. 

He doesn’t panic. At least not much.

 

Jakub gets to the restaurant a few minutes early, and asks for a table outside because it’s a very nice day for the end of October. He pulls his phone out, but he can’t even concentrate enough for Facebook or Twitter. He flips through the menu without reading anything. He starts to wonder if André would prefer a table inside. The street is quiet, but André is a public figure. That’s still a strange thought. 

Jakub is about to get up and ask for a table inside when he sees when Tommy’s car pulls to a stop in front of the restaurant. André jumps out of the passenger seat. He looks good, even with the hint of a fading black eye.

André spots Jakub and weaves his way over through the mostly empty tables.

Jakub stands up before he remembers they’re not going to hug hello. He starts to sit back down, until he remembers that he was going to see about moving inside. He’s half-standing, tangled between the chair and the table when André reaches him. 

André is smiling faintly, probably nervously. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Jakub replies, holding onto the offending chair. “Is this okay? We can move inside if you want.”

“I’m good outside if you are.” Andre shrugs. “It’s a nice day.”

“It is,” Jakub agrees, sitting down again.

André sits down across from him. Silence stretches palpably between them.

“You and Tommy are talking again,” Jakub says, because someone has to say something. Talking about Tommy feels safer than talking about himself.

“Yeah, we talked last night,” André says. “He mentioned you a little. I didn’t know you guys were neighbors.”

“I had no idea you knew him, or I would have mentioned it.” Jakub fidgets with his menu to keep himself from reaching out for André’s hand. Now that André is right here, he really wants to. He has no idea if the contact would be welcome.

“That’s not your fault,” André says. “I’m not the most recognizable Cap and I didn’t say anything. No reason for you to assume I knew Tommy.”

Jakub hates the self-deprecating note in André’s voice. “I started following hockey a month ago. I still wouldn’t recognize anyone except you and Tommy. And maybe Ovechkin,” he says.

Andre’s eyebrows have climbed his forehead. “Really? But you’re a Red Rocker!” 

Jakub shrugs. “Madison and Christian liked the Capitals, and I liked cheering. And even now I never get to see you guys outside of all your hockey gear, so it’s not like I’m learning anyone’s faces.”

André bites his lip and the silence returns. Jakub isn’t sure what else to say. 

“I was serious when I said I had no idea what you want, and I’ll respect whatever that is,” André finally says, “but if you still want to see me outside of hockey, I’d like to see you again.”

“Oh.” Jakub expected for a bit more conversational meandering before they got to this point. André’s face falls, and Jakub rushes to say, “I’d like that. A lot.”

André looks surprised. “Yeah?”

Jakub nods. “I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to figure out how to work things out with you,” he says. “Tommy actually had the only good idea about that.”

“So you really want to work things out?” André asks. He’s clutching his menu like a shield.

“If you want to, then absolutely,” Jakub says, smiling. Feeling bold, he knocks his ankle against André’s under the table.

“I really do,” André replies, smiling back and moving his leg with Jakub’s to keep the contact between them.

The waitress interrupts their moment, and they scramble to decide what they want. Jakub grins when they both order fish tacos. It feels like a sign, even though it probably isn’t.

André grins back, then sobers. “I want to apologize properly for being a dick the other week,” he says.

“What was going on? Why were you upset to see me?” Jakub asks. He needs to know he isn’t going to get shut out like that again, if this is going to go anywhere.

“I thought you were going to break up with me, and I panicked,” André grimaces. “I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to hang out with a shitty hockey player who got a black eye in a dumb fight. I was having a terrible day, and I know that’s not an excuse for running away from you, but that’s what I was thinking.”

“Oh. Thank you for telling me.” That’s a lot to take in, and Jakub feels terrible for André. He sets that weight in his chest aside: they’re talking about their relationship right now. “André, I can’t have you ghost me for two weeks, if we’re going to –” Jakub stops short. They haven’t clarified what they’re going to do, and he doesn’t want to assume.

“I know, and I’m really sorry,” André says. He stirs his straw in his water glass. “If you want to give this another chance, I promise I’ll talk to you when I’m feeling shitty, instead of running away.”

Jakub nods. “And I’ll to text you back when I say I will. I’m sorry too.”

“It’s alright,” André says, sure and easy. 

Jakub still feels like he owes him an explanation. “At first, I was scared you were going to break up with me,” he says, then pauses and takes a deep breath. He focuses on the point where their ankles are still touching, and on the warmth radiating outward from there. “Then I realized I wanted something more serious than hooking up, and I had no idea how to ask you for that.” 

André sits up straighter, pulling his leg away from Jakub’s, but his entire face lights up. “You want something more serious?”

Jakub nods. “If you’re interested, then yeah.”

They’re interrupted by the waitress returning with their tacos. Jakub hopes they don’t seem rude when they barely look away from each other to thank her.

When they’re alone again, André says, “I’d like to date you.”

“Yes, let’s do that.” Jakub reaches across the table and laces his fingers with André’s.

Eating tacos one-handed is a little messy, but completely worth it.

“What was Tommy’s idea for working thing out with me?” André asks.

“Talking to you,” Jakub says. “It seems kind of obvious in retrospect.”

André grins. “Were there other ideas?”

Jakub would cover his face if both his hands weren’t occupied with eating and holding hands. “Our manager, TJ, suggested sending you flowers, and I made you a great bouquet with pompoms and glitter and everything. We left them in the locker room to surprise you, but apparently some of your teammates are allergic, so Ovechkin gave them to a reporter.”

André looks delighted. “That’d be Nicke! I am never letting him live down that he got in the way of our romance.”

The ill-advised flowers do seem kind of funny, now that André’s laughing about them. Jakub continues, “Then Braden – he’s our choreographer – said to make you a mixtape. He was insistent I had to use an actual cassette tape.”

André laughs harder. “I wouldn’t have had a clue how to listen to that.”

“That’s what Tommy said,” Jakub tells him.

André takes a long swallow of his water. “I’m glad you and Tommy are friends.”

“I am too,” Jakub agrees. He captures André’s ankle between his feet and holds it there.

“We should introduce Braden to Ovi,” André says, seemingly eager to change the subject.

Jakub doesn’t mind. André and Tommy have their own stuff to work out and Jakub can respect that it’s not something he’s welcome to, at least not yet. He hopes André will share those kinds of things with him one day. 

Jakub swallows a bite of his taco. “Does Ovechkin like mixtapes?” he asks. 

“No, but he gives ridiculous romantic advice too,” André replies.

“Oh really?” Jakub raises his eyebrows. “Did he give you advice?”

André nods, leaning forward to take a sip of water. “When you texted, I was in the middle of organizing a twenty-step scavenger hunt with all the stuff I know you like all over DC. Ovi likes grand gestures.”

Jakub swallows his laughter. “That’s actually really sweet. I mean, it’s not necessary, and please never ignore me for two weeks to set up a scavenger hunt again, but still, really sweet.” 

André is definitely blushing. “I’ve almost finished planning it, if you still want to do it,” he says.

“I’d love that.” Jakub squeezes André’s hand.

André smiles, and Jakub feels like their clasped hands are the only thing keeping him tethered. Without that contact, he might float right off, like one of those wildly grinning smiley-face balloons.

 

TWELVE

André thought December was too cold for ice cream when Jakub suggested getting cones after dinner, but Jakub had been enthusiastic. This is their fifth dinner date, but the first one to involve walking around in the cold with a frozen dessert. 

Now he’s seeing the appeal of ice cream. Sure, his nose is frozen, and he’s going to have to wash ice cream off his gloves, but he has Jakub tucked snugly under his arm, and the city is beautiful after the sun goes down. Also, ice cream is delicious.

“Do you want to try mine?” Jakub asks, as they wait at a crosswalk.

“Sure,” André replies, and Jakub holds his cone out so André can take a lick of cookies and cream. It bursts, rich and sugary, across his tongue.

“That’s sweet,” André says. “Like you.” He doesn’t care if he sounds sappy.

Jakub giggles and tucks his face against André’s coat. He keeps it there as the signal changes and they cross the street.

There’s a park there, a small one with a playground, and a dog run, and a fountain that’s dry this time of year. André can never remember its name, but he figures it’s a nice spot to end a date.

André offers Jakub a taste of his own dark chocolate ice cream, once they’re a few steps into the park. Jakub declares it good, but bitter. “I don’t know what that says about you,” he jokes.

André could say something about being a bitter, second-rate hockey player, but he doesn’t want to. It would ruin the mood, and besides, it doesn’t feel true the way it did a month ago. He’s playing well, but perhaps more importantly, he’s doing well off the ice. He and Nicke and Mackan have reinstituted Swedish family dinners. He and Tommy are hanging out again, and it’s good, even when they’re tentative with each other. And, of course, things have been going well with Jakub.

“I think it means I’m deep and mysterious,” he says.

“You are more than welcome to show me deep,” Jakub replies.

“We’re doing movie night with your roomies tonight! And Tommy!” André squawks. “What is wrong with you?”

Jakub smirks up at him, unrepentant. “We have all night after that.”

André can’t argue with his logic. He leans down to kiss a smudge of ice scream off the corner of Jakub’s lips instead.

Jakub deepens the kiss for a moment before pulling back suddenly. “Sorry! Almost lost my ice cream.”

“Let’s sit down.” André guides Jakub to a bench next to the waterless fountain, and they settle onto it.

“Look!” Jakub points skyward, and André spots a rapidly moving light. It has to be a plane, not anything more romantic, but maybe airplanes are the urban version of shooting stars.

“Make a wish?” Jakub suggests.

André thinks for a moment. “I wish we can come back here next year. Same time, same place.”

“You’re not supposed to say your wish out loud,” Jakub murmurs.

“I know, but if I say it out loud, we can work on it together. If it’s something you want too,” André says. “I trust you more than an airplane or a shooting star or whatever else is out there, V.”

Jakub kisses him hard. “I want that, too. And I trust you more than anything else out there.”

“Then we’ll be back here in a year,” André says. “I believe in us.”

 

As soon as Jakub opens the door to his apartment, raucous laughter and the scent of buttery, microwave popcorn spill out. André wonders if that means Christian and Madison settled their argument over whether to watch _Pacific Rim_ and _Mad Max_ , or if they’re the sort of friends to laugh through their disagreements. It hardly sounded serious based on the texts Jakub read aloud as they waited for the elevator, but he still doesn’t really know Jakub’s roommates.

Jakub hangs their coats in the hall closet and they add their gloves and hats and scarves to a pile of winter accessories that’s nearly overflowing the small table it occupies. André spares a thought for all the gloves that will go missing before springtime.

“Come on,” Jakub says, darting in close to kiss against André’s cheek, before grabbing his hand. “Let’s see what they decided on.”

André can’t help but join in the laughter when they reach the living room and he sees Tommy standing next to the television that’s displaying the title screen for _Titanic_ with Jack holding Rose while she pretends to fly. 

Tommy lights up when his eyes land on André. “Burky! Hi! You agree with me, right? Tell these guys _Titanic_ is a classic!” He waves a hand at Madison and Christian who are flopped on the sectional, looking very skeptical. Christian is holding a giant bowl of popcorn. It looks like it should feed an army, but André has no doubt the five of them will make short work of it. They all spend their workdays on their feet, after all.

André would be happy to watch _Titanic_ again, but he has a feeling watching Tommy convince his neighbors that it’s worth watching will be even more entertaining. He turns to Jakub. “What do you think, V?”

Jakub sits down on the sectional between his roommates and grabs a handful of popcorn. He adopts a skeptical expression to match theirs.

“Aw, come on guys,” Tommy whines. “Burky, don’t pretend you don’t love it.” 

André grins at Tommy. He does love _Titanic_ , enough that he happily watched it more than once while he and Tommy lived together. He’s only helping Tommy’s case by pointing out, “I’m not the one who cries at the ending.”

Tommy gives him his best _fight me_ look. It’s completely ruined by everyone else cracking up again. 

André met by three delighted expressions when he turns around.

“We’re absolutely watching _Titanic_!” Christian crows from where he’s moved to perch on the arm of the sectional, still clutching the bowl of popcorn. 

Jakub and Madison collapse into each other in a giggly pile.

Tommy sighs. “Oh, alright.”

André throws an arm over Tommy’s shoulders. “I can go find a box of tissues now,” he offers. He doesn’t struggle too much when Tommy gets him in a headlock and drags him over to join the others.

They settle in to watch the movie. Jakub and Madison untangle just enough that André can lie down with his head in Jakub’s lap and Jakub can run his fingers through André’s hair. Tommy-the-cat wanders in and springs into Madison’s lap, clearly wanting to be part of the cuddle-fest. Tommy grumbles at his namesake not choosing his lap as he sits at the other end of the sectional and pulls Christian down to sit next to him. 

Christian passes the bowl of popcorn around and André takes a small handful. He sticks his feet in Tommy’s lap and wiggles his toes until Tommy digs his thumbs into André’s arches.

“Thanks,” André tells murmurs, sitting up enough that Tommy can hear him over the opening credits.

“You’re ridiculous.” Tommy smiles and squeezes André’s feet tighter.

André grins back at him, then takes advantage of sitting up to pull Jakub in for a quick kiss. He still tastes like ice cream under the salty tang of popcorn. 

Jakub smiles, soft and sweet. He threads a hand through André’s hair and keeps it there as André lays back down.

André relaxes into it. He has his people and he’s happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's all take a moment to remember that the Washington Capitals are Stanley Cup champions.


End file.
